


So Will You Swim for Me

by newredshoes



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newredshoes/pseuds/newredshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But what the young warrior didn't know was that the dragon was walking, step for step, just behind him — one foot — after the other—"</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Will You Swim for Me

**Author's Note:**

> Sairobi asked for hurt/comfort fic; I thought I'd be writing a drabble-length response. Thanks, Sairobi! Boundless thanks also to Linden, Kat and Meg for cheerleading and assuring me this was readable. Title comes from "Catastrophe" by Rainer Maria.

Without warning, the flame guttered in Loki’s hand. The shadows made bold strokes over his wolfhound lines. “But what the young warrior didn’t know,” he continued with a grin, “was that the dragon was walking, step for step, just behind him — one foot — after the other—”

“Loki!”

Light flooded the cavern again. Loki smirked at Fandral, nonplussed. Fandral’s cape swished in his wake. Sif picked her way along the ledge, until she was at Loki’s shoulder. “Your stories are terrible,” she said, low in her throat. “I should rather listen to Volstagg describe his morning meal.” She bumped his elbow, jostling the flame he cupped in his palm.

“Keep going!” Thor called from up front. He strolled backwards for a few paces, his smile wide. “I want to hear what happens!”

Loki canted his head at Sif. “Thor likes it.”

“Thor is your brother, and has no taste besides.”

“I’ve had enough of monsters,” Volstagg piped up from the rear. “Couldn’t we stop for a bite of lunch?”

Loki set the flame back on top of his torch. “You wouldn’t be suggesting that if you’d heard the moral of my story.”

Sif slipped past him and picked up her pace. “Can it be said that your stories have morals?” Loki merely clucked his tongue after her.

“We should stop,” Hogun said, grim as ever. “We must eat.”

Fandral barked a laugh. “Do I detect a note of self-interest in that statement?”

“Hogun’s looking out for all of us, as ever,” Thor chuckled. “I could stand to eat. There’s solid ground up ahead. We won’t lose too much time.”

Fandral winked at Sif. “Let Loki finish. We may lose our appetites.”

They took their meal in a hollow, where a honeycomb of tunnels converged. One of Loki’s softer glows lit up veins of quartz in the walls. Thor and Volstagg demolished a bird between them, while Fandral carved himself thick slices of cheese and Hogun took measured bites of waybread. Sif chewed a strip of jerky, only half noting the idle talk of the others. Loki set down his canteen.

“Your pardon,” he said dryly, pushing himself to his feet. “If I don’t return in ten minutes, I’ve probably died.”

Thor tossed a bone aside. “If you go down at the head, what will I tell Father and Mother?” Loki took a lazy swipe at him, which Thor dodged with good humor. Sif glanced after him as he chose a tunnel and slipped out of sight. She finished her venison, washing it down with some of Thor’s beer. Thor crooked an eyebrow at her and swallowed. “I would have given it freely,” he said, amused.

She wagged her eyebrows back. “You may fight me for it, if you like.”

He held up both hands. “I am saving my strength.”

Sif laughed. “Very wise of you.” She stood. “I’ll be back.” Not even Hogun watched her leave.

The tunnel curled away from the hollow. A dim violet phosphorescence revealed only the barest details of the walls. Sif kept her spine straight, and padded forward cautiously. She felt him behind her, before she heard his footfalls matching hers, before his arms snaked about her waist, her sword untouched, before she let him guide her against the wall and press his mouth to her own.

“Smoked meat and ale,” Loki sighed. “Intoxicating.”

Sif took hold of his jacket, the leather giving beneath her fingers. “Forgive me if I do not choose to subsist on mead alone.” She pulled him back to her, and he did not resist. His hands spread over the hollow of her back. Sif braced herself with one arm and broke away from him with a chuckle. “I still can’t believe you came.”

She saw his crooked teeth flash in the dimness. “It’s your doing that I did.”

Sif grazed his thigh with her knee. “So Loki Odinson has no will of his own?”

He leaned into her. “Thor will not teach me to love the great outdoors.”

She fisted his jacket again. “So greedy.”

“Just hungry.” His thumb ghosted over her clavicle, his fingers near the hinge of her jaw. She bit at his lower lip; his silence egged her on and set her hands loose. She roved over his belly; the taut muscles moved beneath his shirt.

Sif pulled back. “Ten minutes,” she murmured archly against his cheek. “They will think us both dead.”

“Then we must be stealthy,” he said, all solemnity, “and quick.” With a deft hand he flipped back the tongue of her belt.

“No!” She grabbed his wrist, holding back a laugh. “I cannot keep quiet.”

“How little you credit—”

Loki tensed. He met Sif’s eye, frowning.

Thor was yelling Volstagg’s name.

A cold flame sprang up in Loki’s palm. They ran together toward the commotion, until they’d nearly reached the hollow. Sif pounded into the open alone, just in time to see Hogun kick something off a ledge. Volstagg sat crumpled in a heap, wan beneath his red beard. “What is it?” she panted, looking between them. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” said Thor, shaken and infuriated by it. He sheathed his sword. “One moment he was fine, the next he wasn’t.” Loki skidded to a halt from another tunnel; he looked from Thor to Volstagg and back at Thor, his brow furrowed.

“I don’t know what came over me,” said Volstagg. He accepted the canteen Fandral offered and tipped it back. “I was convinced the jotnar had us surrounded.”

Thor scoffed. “Frost giants?”

“I know, I know.” Volstagg shook his head. “It felt so real.” Absently, he rubbed his wrist.

“Hogun.” Fandral twisted to look up at him. “What was that you cut away from him?”

Hogun bowed his head. “Not a snake. I don’t see it now.”

“Are you bit?” Fandral made a face. “I thought nothing lived down here anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” said Loki suddenly. “Just because we’ve never seen something doesn’t mean it’s not here.”

Volstagg groaned. “None of your tales.” He heaved himself upright. “Well, I’ve learned my lesson. I’m fine now, just fine. Shall we continue?”

They collected their gear and trooped onward. Loki and Thor conferred at the head of the line. Sif adjusted the pack on her shoulder, and with her free hand slipped her belt shut again.

*

Loki spoke while they all had their necks craned. “Do you know why they call it the Midwinter Barrow?”

“Don’t ruin the moment,” said Volstagg, but idly. The cave humbled them; from bedrock to vault, seams of phosphor leaked light, setting off all the hues and angles of the stone.

Loki’s smirk tinged his voice. “In Midgard, for part of the year their sun vanishes for most of the day. The humans invent ridiculous reasons for it. Some say it goes underground, so we humor them and say it comes down here.”

Fandral snorted softly. “That was one of your nicer stories.”

Sif caught Loki’s glance from the corner of her eye. “I have a few,” he said, almost mild. She studied a cluster of stalactites, rather than endure a wink.

Thor gave the scene an approving nod as he set down his pack. “Too bad there’s nothing to hunt down here.”

“Some things, brother, you enjoy on their own terms.” Loki clapped his hands together. “I for one plan on examining the rock. No one’s ever explained how it gives off that light.”

Volstagg held up his hands. “Enough excitement for me today, thank you.”

Sif huffed a laugh. “You call that excitement?”

Loki wagged his eyebrows. “I’ll bring everyone a thrilling tale. Enjoy your feast.”

Hogun put a hand on Loki’s arm. “Be safe.” Loki looked down at him, his smile a twist.

“Of course I’ll be safe.” He strode off toward a tunnel. The light he summoned for himself bobbed in the dimness and was engulfed.

Hogun watched him go while the rest of them unpacked their spread. “Come now, Hogun,” said Fandral. “If anyone can look after himself, it’s Loki.”

“As can Volstagg.”

The pause was uneasy. “Call it clumsiness,” Volstagg said at last. “I probably trod on something. It has not troubled us since.”

“It is a little cold down here. And dark.” Thor shrugged. “Perhaps you conjured the jotuns on your own.”

“I conjured nothing. It felt real. I was just as scared as I was then.” His face grew grim. “You are all too young to remember the war with Jotunheim. I do.”

“No one is calling you a coward, even as a boy.” Sif shot Thor a look. “And there are no jotuns this side of the Bifrost, real or otherwise. We’ve all been walking too long to start bickering now. Let’s take care of this food, shall we?”

Thor grinned. “It is what we came for. Loki had better hurry back if he’s got any kind of stomach to fill.”

It was a goodly meal, and the company was fine. Volstagg forgave and forgot over a brace of roast pheasants. They all filled the caverns with the sound of their jests and jibes. Sif kept glancing at the untouched portions she’d set aside. They stayed so, even when Thor broke the seals on their flagons and passed ale among them. Sif’s laughter diminished, and she watched the mouths of the tunnels for some movement or steady light.

“It has been too long,” she announced, interrupting Fandral’s exploits with a lady he’d charmed in Vanaheim. She rose, buckling her sword to her belt. “No rock is that engrossing.”

Thor lifted his brows. “Shall we come with you?”

Sif searched their faces for some seed of suspicion. All she saw were her friends. “Of course not.” She kept her smile conspiratorial. “This sword is for him.”

*

The sound of breathing drew her on. It shuddered in the swells and bends of the tunnel, the ragged, unsteady gasps of a felled hart. Sif followed as swift as her caution would allow. She was seasoned in the hunt, and had long since learned what little good anticipation did. In this moment, she knew enough: that the tunnel was quiet, that nothing had come to stop her yet, that Loki had left them on his own.

A melee of shadows followed her torch; the rough walls crackled with flickering edges. The long, labored breaths quickened. Sif bent lower and began to run.

The tunnel ended abruptly. Another cavern opened up before her, suffuse with a soft violet glow. Sif backed against a corner and lifted her sword. She peered around the cavern’s mouth. The space was empty, save for a wall of vines climbing the far wall, and before it a spur of rock. Loki lay splayed atop this, his head hidden, his feet drawn and bound. Sif could hear all of his noises now, the scrape of his clothing on the stone, the groans as he strained, the hitches as he went still again. Nothing or no one attended him.

She broke her cover. If he had been captured, they had no time to dally. She hissed his name as she approached, and reached for the bonds roped around his wrists. Her fingers grazed them—

The room was aflame. Loki grinned up at her, his face haggard and hollow. “My lady,” he rasped. Sif jerked her hand away—

Loki lay supine on the rock, his eyes fever-bright with pain. He panted as he searched her face, and gritted his teeth against crying out. Sif reeled. The room was cool and quiet. She looked to his wrists again.

The vines bound him, thick and fleshy as a succulent. She followed the lines of them back to the wall; tiny flowers studded the tangle there, each incandescent with purple. The light throbbed if she stared at it too long. She backed away and hovered near Loki’s head. His eyes rolled back as he tracked her. She watched him for a moment. The muscles in his shoulders and neck seemed to relax a little; his face did not look so clenched. Sif shook her head. “You idiot,” she murmured, and sheathed her sword in favor of a dagger.

She leaned over him again, holding the flame high. “I’m going to cut you out of here,” she said slowly. “You have to hold still for me. Can you do that?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped back to set the torch down. Loki’s body went rigid. All at once, he arched away from the rock, sucking in breath. Sif barked his name again. He collapsed against the stone and began to scream.

It was a sound to crack the foundations of the mountain. Sif grabbed at his shoulders, but he wrenched away, nearly cracking his head against the rock. She bellowed his name again, to no effect. Loki screamed and writhed and shook with a fury that nearly unseated her. He was not so massive as Thor, but his was an efficient body, and it was every inch muscle. Sif threw herself at his torso, to wrestle him down. Sweat seeped into her sleeves; the rock beneath him was drenched. He bucked against her, his voice raw and wordless. Sif shut her eyes and bore down.

“Loki! _Loki!”_

Thor barreled into the cavern. The Warriors Three fanned out behind him. They paused, staring, until Sif shouted “Help me!” and they crowded around the rock. “Don’t touch the vines. Hold him,” she said, and made room for Thor to pin Loki down. Volstagg and Hogun took a flailing leg each. Sif nodded to Fandral, who drew a knife of his own.

“Brother,” said Thor, “you have to keep still.” Loki went quiet then, his eyes focusing on his friends. Thor smiled and adjusted his hold on him. “We’re here to help,” he said, and Loki’s eyebrows knitted.

“No,” he mumbled, panting, and struggled against them. “No, you can’t do this to me. No!” He strained away, avoiding Thor’s face. Thor tried to take his cheek and bring him around, but Loki cried, “I haven’t done anything! No!”

“Get him free of those!” Sif shouted, and began sawing at his wrist. Fandral threw himself into it as well, working at Loki’s ankle. Loki struggled even harder, his protestations punctuated by ever sharper cries of pain.

“One down!” Fandral announced. “Hold him steady!”

“Same!” Sif shouted, and circled to his other side.

Mid-yell, Loki’s jaw clamped shut. His hands balled tight; cords stood out in his neck. Sif looked up from her work to see his irises fully ringed by white. She ground her teeth and sawed faster. The vine did not give easily, and leaked a viscous liquid at the cuts. A low, frantic moan rolled in Loki’s throat. Sif bared her teeth at the final strands of the vine, racing the bottled-up sob in his chest. The violet glow of the flowers flared and flashed behind them.

Loki wrenched to one side and snapped the bonds at his feet. Fandral only just dodged a blow to the chest. “Quickly, Sif!” Thor grunted. She huffed a steadying breath and slashed at what remained. Loki lunged away and toppled off the rock.

Volstagg hurried to him first. Loki scrabbled back, his eyes wild and his mouth fused shut.

“Brother!” Thor spread his arms. “You’re free now!”

“Hold,” said Volstagg simply, and they waited.

Loki stared at them, plainly baffled. His breathing came hard to him still, even as his jaw remained clenched. Uncertainly at first, he began to wipe his wrists on his jacket. Sif and the others made no move to approach him.

The cavern was quiet again. The violet glow had dimmed. With deliberate, careful movements, Loki collected himself, stacking his spine, pushing his shoulders back, planting his feet. Fandral busied himself with his knife. Sif watched Loki, but he would not meet her eye. He took one unsteady step, then another, and skirted around them, stiff-backed. They let him vanish into the tunnel.

“Give him a few minutes,” Volstagg said at last, and exhaled.

A long, dark stain spanned the bare spur of rock. Hogun joined Sif at its head. He picked up the torch she’d set down and put it to the vine. They all stood without speaking while the thatch and the flowers caught the flame.

*

On the first day back, she did not seek him out. Loki barely spoke on the long walk home, and Sif could not quite look him in the face. Thor, perhaps, was the one who began reminiscing. She latched onto the easy back-and-forth of past exploits. The merriment felt like relief for the rest of them. At the palace, they all parted ways. Loki vanished, and Sif took her leave, eager for a bath and her own soft bed.

She dreamed of snowfall in the night — nothing in particular, and less than what she’d feared. When she woke, she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. The sheets were fresh and smelled of the outdoors still. She basked in the quiet, noting the easy rhythm of her own breathing. Her heart skidded. She shook it off before she could examine it too closely.

Golden light filled the feasting hall. Volstagg had also risen late and was just sitting down to breakfast. Sif ate freely of the table, meat and melon and grain, while Volstagg lovingly recounted a feast he’d enjoyed to commemorate a cousin’s marriage. He praised each dish with the vigor of a skald. Sif learned that he had once tried to cook a swan in order to impress a young lady of his acquaintance. Luckily for the swan, his mother had shooed him out of the kitchen before he could ruin such a fine bird.

“I have never tried to feed anyone out of love,” Sif admitted, laughing.

Volstagg wagged a finger. “Ah, but as an act of guile? That I might believe.”

Sif conceded it was a fine thought. They sat together for a goodly part of the morning.

She took the long way from the palace, winding through the twist of gardens and hidden green places. No one met her on her way. Fandral and Hogun were at the training yard of their own accord. She traded insults with them, and was in due course invited to the play of weapons. She took turns with each of them, pitting her quickness against the sword and her relentlessness against the mace. Hogun patted her on the back, while Fandral practiced his boasts for her scorn. She spent the hot hours of the afternoon in the dust, where she was movement and muscle, and empty spaces were something to pass through.

Between the baths and her bedroom, she encountered Thor and the All-father. In the company of his sons, Odin was less forbidding. Sif always noticed the lines of his face, the small movements that made him so expressive. She still dipped her head and greeted the lords of Asgard. Thor winked at her. “Lady Sif owes me a drink.”

“So I’ve heard.” The All-father’s patch seemed to wink for him. “Thievery among friends should be a small thing, but Thor insists on justice.”

Sif smiled. “You have me at a disadvantage. I cannot thump you in the presence of the All-father.”

Odin chuckled and tipped his head toward her. “I would cheer you on.”

She and Thor caught each other’s glances. “Have you seen your brother?” she asked lightly.

Thor rolled his shoulders. “He said he was going out this morning. I haven’t heard from him since then.”

Odin lifted an eyebrow. “More thievery to settle?”

Sif dipped her chin. “Just revenge, my lord.”

“Ah.” Odin nodded, and the pair of them went on their way. Sif continued down the long hallway, tense again, and listening for something.

*

The wind made chimes of the treetops. Sif loved this spot, though she did not come often. The bluffs over the river were a rough place, without symmetry. Birches and elms from the banks crowded against the heights. The shining city seemed a distant suggestion. The air always smelled sweet here.

Loki’s jacket lay in a bundle near his perch at the edge of the rock. The lines of his shoulders showed through his shirt. He let her approach without acknowledgment. Sif settled at his back and leaned against him. His skin was warm, his body solid; he smelled faintly of silt. They were very high up, and alone.

“I keep thinking,” he said at last, “how the body doesn’t remember pain, only that it happened.”

Sif rested her chin on his shoulder. “Perhaps you’ve heard that you think too much.”

“It’s been proposed.” He turned his face to look at her. His eyes were bruises. She settled closer to the crook of his neck.

“You should come back. You’re missed.”

He laughed softly. “That’s a poor lie.”

She prodded his side. “Don’t get too self-pitying. I only meant it’s dinner soon.”

He lifted his eyes to the trees, which ended not so very much above them. “I like it up here.”

“So the great outdoors are somewhat amenable.”

Loki pressed his fingertips together. “That may be an overstatement.”

Sif’s eye fell on his wrists: bare, unmarked, unstained. She shifted her chin. “Where have you been?”

He studied his knees. “The library.”

“I couldn’t find you there.”

“I wanted to be left alone.” His brow knitted, fleetingly. “Have you been looking for me?”

The wind ghosted past them. Sif bit one corner of her lip. “Yes.”

“A waste of time.”

She had to smile, and nudged his shoulder. “That’s a strange thing for you to say.”

His mouth tightened. “I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I.” She touched his knee, lightly. “Come back to your friends. Let them see that you’re well.”

“Don’t tease me.” He flinched under her hand. “I haven’t slept.”

Sif straightened. She took in their surroundings again. Light sparked off the deep green of the birches. They shimmered soundlessly. The inversion was perfect, and inescapable. “Come away with me,” she said.

“I am sorry you think me so dull, but you would not ask me this if you knew what happened down there.”

She tucked her foot against her thigh. “Loki, I was there. We all were.”

“I promise you, you weren’t.” He cut off her retort. “That vine, it’s called æðraviðr. It seeks out body heat, which is probably why it went to Volstagg first.”

Sif frowned. “That’s unnecessary.”

“It’s psychotropic,” he continued. “It feeds on the energy you expend being terrified, which is elegant and efficient, until its victim gives out.”

She eyed him. “You’ve done a lot of reading.”

“Do you want to know what I saw?”

“No,” she said, before she could stop herself. Her fingers brushed her knee. The sun was hot now on her skin. _My lady._ That world-ending face. Loki’s eyes were narrow, the green iris swallowing the black.

“I saw my friends,” he said slowly. “They held me down. They laughed at me, and they sewed my mouth shut.”

Her ribs bit into her. Her collarbones ached. “Loki,” she said, and his name rubbed her throat raw. “It wasn’t real. Why would your friends do that?”

“Of course it wasn’t real.” He looked away. “But I remember that it happened. So if it’s quite all right with you, Sif, I would prefer to stay here for a while longer.”

“I came for you.” The tremor in her voice took her by surprise, but she did not correct it. “Everyone did, but I came before you made a sound. I held you and cut you out.”

She didn’t make the decision to stand up, but it happened. She could have said more, but she walked away along the bare back of the rock. Loki did not follow her; she didn’t check if he watched. Around her, the wind threaded softly through the leaves.

*

Sif did not have much skill at doubting. It made Thor and his brashness so dear to her — and lusty Volstagg, laughing Fandral, Hogun who was so sure. She could not fathom how Loki stood it, and how often she saw it in him too. Her skin was surely flayed away in layers. She pressed closer to her bed, belly-down to keep her ribs together.

It had been the truth she’d spoken. The words themselves had all been what happened. But she could not hide from how they’d shook. That had also happened. Sif sought him out; he had been an empty space to fill. His disregard made her angry. She knew what she’d done for him.

The rap at her door did not startle her. She drew her knee away from her chest and sat up. The sun had dimmed since she’d come to her room, and she crossed the floor more by instinct than sight. Loki stood an arm’s length from the door, his brow furrowed. He was dressed for others to see. “You weren’t at dinner,” he said, tentative.

Sif, barefoot, pushed her shoulders back. “I’m glad you were.”

He glanced to one side, down the corridor. “May I come in?”

She stepped aside and shut the door behind him.

He glanced at her sleeping garments, the loose shirt and knee-length trousers, before nodding at the darkened room. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“I’ve been awake.” She reached for a lantern, and a slow, silvery light flooded the room. His face was still drawn and weary. He worried at his palm with his thumb.

“Once,” he said, collecting himself, “there was—”

She crossed her arms. “Are you here to tell me a story?”

His mask slipped, and stayed off. This was something vulnerable; she hardly knew how to act in the face of it. Loki didn’t look away. “What are the new rules?” His voice had gone liquid, in self-defense.

Sif held still where she stood. “Why are you here?”

He canted his head. “Why did you open the door?”

Her fingers curled at her side. “I’m greedy,” she said.

Loki’s expression flickered. “I’m hungry.”

Sif rolled her lip under her teeth. She opened her stance. “Come here.”

His long legs brought him to her. Sif bunched his jacket in her hands and drew him in. Wine still colored the taste of him, but she sought him out, opening, plying his lips with her tongue. He went straight for her hair. His long fingers raked through it at the nape of her neck. She smiled and nipped at his lower lip, holding it as he drew away. His eyes met hers. Her back thudded to the wall. Loki hitched one of her legs by his hip. She didn’t give him time to descend, but pushed his collar aside and pressed her mouth to his neck, beneath his jaw, at the hard and soft places where his voice lived.

His breath shuddered in her ear. She straddled his thigh, unrelenting. Her fingers found their way to his clavicle, brushing over the hollow spot, his bones. Loki slipped out from under her, just out of reach. He braced himself against the wall, his whole forearm above her head, and kissed her again, harsh and impatient. His thumb traced down the space between her breasts, until his whole hand slid under the swell of her and kneaded. He drew back again and then his hand was between her legs, two fingers hooking and rolling over the light fabric. “Oh,” Sif said, her eyes popping, and began to chuckle.

“We never got to finish this.” She couldn’t see his smile, but she heard it as he slowed down.

“You never started, just teased.” Sif leaned her forehead against his arm. “I will hold you to it.”

“You wanted to keep quiet.” He stopped any reply, his lips and tongue working in time with his hand. Sif squeezed her eyes shut. The muscles of her stomach were already beginning to quiver. She cupped his cheek and pushed him back.

“You’re still teasing,” she gasped.

He crooked an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twisting down. “You ruin all my surprises.”

“Then surprise me!”

Loki pulled her bottoms down; she lifted each foot through the leg at acrobatic angles before kicking the trousers away. He knelt down and nuzzled along her thigh, his eyes on hers, wicked. Sif arched away from the wall. He turned his face and licked a long, slow line up one side of her labia. One arm hooked around her leg, and his hand spread over the thick muscles there. Sif’s groan hummed in her chest.

His name slipped off her tongue. She was already half-hazy when his first finger slipped inside her. Something in her core lurched. Her nipples peaked under her top; she pressed one arm to her breast, circling her fingers over the heavy hardness. Loki put his mouth to her and suckled. The moment he drew back, Sif’s throat rumbled. He took a breath; the play of the air sent a tremor up her spine. She growled his name again. He looked up at her, his green eyes clear beneath the arc of his brows, and flicked her clitoris. He smiled at the sound she made and took his mouth to her again.

His teeth brushed against her clit, maybe on purpose, maybe by accident; she fought to keep herself upright. The muscles in her thighs and stomach stuttered. “Loki,” she hissed. He crooked his finger and eased in a second. Another laugh escaped her, and the grin didn’t fly so quickly either. She watched him as her hips began to undulate with his hand. Her heart was a pack of hounds then, surging and yelping and racing each other.

“Stop!” she cried. “Stop, enough!” She hooked her hand behind his ear. Loki drew back, and she urged him to his feet. Wordlessly, she pushed him backward, step for step, across her room. Her hands fumbled, but she relieved him of his jacket; she unclasped the buttons sealing him under his shirt; she mashed her mouth to his, breathing hard, and felt his torso curl under her palm. Loki broke away long enough to lift her top over her head, and then Sif bumped him onto her bed. She straddled him as soon as he fell, her hands in his hair, unwilling to stop kissing him.

His erection was hot against the inside of her thigh. Loki scrambled for his trousers, though one hand grasped the sharp edge of her hip and engulfed it. “Come on,” Sif snarled, and yanked at the heavy fabric. Loki laughed, once, as he came free. Sif guided him into her and pressed her knees to his sides.

He sat up, and brushed the hair out of her face again. Sif bent over him and traced up his shoulder with her mouth. His hands fanned out over the hollow of her back. She held him, he spoke her name, and they bore down together.

*

Twined in the bed, with the lantern gone dim, Sif watched Loki, nearly asleep. “Why did you touch it?” she said quietly.

Loki mumbled; he blinked and managed to focus on her.

“The vine,” she insisted. “You knew what it was going in.”

“I did,” he said, most of the way to a sigh.

“Why?” She searched his face, but was only able to see lines.

Loki shifted. His mouth brushed against her ear, smooth, without scars. “The moral of this story,” he said, with the last of his voice, “is that we are our own best traps.”

She kissed him again, at the corner of his lips, and lay there listening, breathing in the dark.


End file.
